season months.

the problems with
my heart go deeper than you think.

they are larger than the pomegranate seeds

you feed me,

thinking that's the only way to keep me with you.

i hate you for the winter cold you brought

to the world,

but i love you for the fruits you give.

just as when, in the grips of cold,

your caves of darkness,

you undress your pomegranates.

slowly peeling the tender flesh

with your lips,

not caring for the juice that sticks your fingers,

your face.

it is only when i'm gone again,

and your fruit trees bear no fruit

that you are able to forget.